


Falling

by starsonabluesky



Series: Love is the Devil [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale sleeps with Merlin, Experienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Very minor to the overall plot, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 11:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20114491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsonabluesky/pseuds/starsonabluesky
Summary: Walking behind the scenes of Aziraphale and Crowley's encounters from the eyes of the angle. Aziraphale is just as experienced as Crowley is well-traveled. It takes Crowley nearly 6,000 years to admit a little something special to Aziraphale.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Some fluff with light, superficial smut. Part 1 of a 2 part series, the juicy stuff is about to follow.
> 
> This is my first time writing for Good Omens; I hope I got the timeline correct. If not, I'm sorry!

“Ahhhh,” Aziraphale sighed as he stretched. He blinked in the hot Roman sun. Since the turn of the century, he had begun to explore more and more pleasures of the flesh. He started with drinking the crisp water in the Garden of Eden, moved quickly to eating the fruits and things that grew there, Crawley—Crowley, did make the apples sound delicious, and hasn’t stopped. It was just after the crucifixion of Jesus that he began to indulge in more bodily delights. With the rise of the Roman Empire, encouraging the men of high society to lay with him wasn’t that difficult. It was a regular part of their culture. And as they say, ‘when in Rome…’

Aziraphale had started off his sexual adventure with women but found that it wasn’t all that pleasurable; he really could not understand what the humans liked so much about it. He gave it up altogether for a few years until one night outside the Colosseum; he stumbled upon a rather fierce-looking gladiator on the way to his barracks after a day of training. Sultry looks were exchanged, and that was that.

After a nice romping, he did like to unwind at a lovely little pub and play a game or two with a jug of the house brown. Really rounded out his entire day. As he sat at a table near the bar, his ears tuned into a strangely familiar voice. He turned to see no one other than the demon himself, Craw-Crowley.

He made his way over, and after exchanging pleasantries and finishing their liquor, they made their wait to Petronius’ for oysters.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but take in the exciting sight that was Crowley. At first glance, he seemed to be completely relaxed, indifferent to the world around him. After further review, however, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the taught way his lips moved when he spoke. Everyone once in a while, lowering both his head and voice while speaking about rather ordinary subjects. It was so strange to the angel to watch how the demon indeed held himself. Aziraphale knew that there was a supple stiffness to himself. He rather loved the corporal state he had known for the past few centuries. He at times found himself jealous of the way that Crowley was able to go about his existence, without the strict obedience of God’s will. Looking at him now staring down warily at the oysters set in front of him, Aziraphale wasn’t so sure anymore.

It must be hard for Crowley to have to continually look over his shoulder, knowing that at any moment the worst that Hell has to offer could be unleashed on him at a whim. Not that the operatives in Heaven were any better, but Aziraphale was comforted by the fact that his behavior was corrected through strongly worded memos and usually nothing more invasive.

He was snapped back into the present moment by Crowley calling his name, “-phale! This might be a stupid question, but are you supposed to eat the shell?” Crowley’s tongue darted out of his mouth, leaving his lips glistening in the afternoon light.

“Oh! Heaven’s no! You can cut the meat away from the shell and slurp it all out. Like this!” the angel demonstrated with one of the oysters sitting in front of him. The demon shook his head but gave it a go.

They ate their oysters in peace, Aziraphale chattered on about the different foods he has tried since being in Rome and Crowley just nodded along.

After a pause in between stories, Aziraphale took in the sight of the demon. They had been together for about 2 hours since and the man sitting in front of him seemed slightly more relaxed. Somehow throughout their meal, his body got closer to the angel’s, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, and his face was somewhat calmer. Currently, he was staring out over the bustling streets of Rome; he had only eaten 2 of the 6 oysters he was given but had enough wine to sink a ship. Aziraphale was not offended by his lack of eating; he knew that Crowley wasn’t much to indulge in human delights, even from the few encounters they have had.

That train of thought brought the angel back to his own activities this morning; he wondered if Crowley had ever laid with a mortal. His imagination ran with the idea as if entirely out of his control. His eyes traveled to Crowley’s Adam’s apple as the other man drank from his mug. Aziraphale imagined what it would feel like to press his lips to that neck, and then further down to his chest, and further down to…

“Oi! Angel! Are you alright?” Crowley leaned his head in, his eyes examining Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and physically shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind, “I’m just fine! Why would you think otherwise?”

Crowley lifted his brows incredulously, “you went quiet for a while then your face turned pink. I’m assuming you wouldn’t allow your body to choke or have a heat stroke, but then again, I never know with you.”

Aziraphale felt odd about the final statement, but he did not comment on it.

They finished their lunch and parted ways.

*♚*♚*

The next time this pair came together, they found themselves in the most uncomfortable armor in all of West Essex. Crowley suggested they stop working against one another but rather, with one another. Choosing when to interfere with the balance. Aziraphale was astonished by the recommendation; he couldn’t disobey direct orders from his Head Office. That wasn’t something he thought himself capable of, lying. There were so many sticklers in Heaven, Michael, and Gabriel, to name a few.

Aziraphale huffed and turned back toward King Arthur’s castle. He found himself back in his chamber later that evening, a servant disrobing him of the clunky armor until he was left with nothing but his undergarments. The servant in question was a skinny man, maybe 25-28 years of age. His hands were rough with experience, skin slightly tanned with the servant work of his day. He was somewhat taller than the angel, only by an inch or two at that. His skillful fingers quickly removed the armor, and his strong arms were able to buff out some of the more prominent smudges on the metal.

All this was well enough, as a Knight of the Round Table, Aziraphale was treated very well in the Kingdom. He watched indifferently through the reflection in the mirror, sitting on his vanity as he washed his face. The helmet was very sweaty. Just as he was patting off his brow, the servant stepped into a beam of sunlight. In the sun’s rays, his hair appeared more auburn than when he was in the shadows.

“Wha-what did you say your name was?” Aziraphale stuttered slightly but strengthened his voice toward the end.

The servant seemed slightly spooked, he looked up and responded formally, “my name is Merlin, sir. Have I done something wrong?”

The angel could hear the slight tremor in his voice; he must be reprimanded frequently. Come to think of it his name sounded oddly familiar, “are you not the personal man-servant of the King?” “I am, sir, the servant that was meant to assist you fell ill, and I was…assigned to take care of you in his absence. I am almost finished with your armor then I will be out of your way,” he explained.

Aziraphale nodded, and Merlin turned back to the metal chest plate, scrubbing it vigorously. Aziraphale moved to the large bed sitting in the middle of his chambers. Merlin seemed to be finishing up his work, the side of the table where he arranged the clean pieces of armor nearly held all the necessary parts.

The angel took the moment to clear his throat, “it must be interesting working so closely with the King. I know I see him in his role as an official, but you must be able to see him as a man.”

Merlin looked up and nodded, “he’s an interesting man.”

The two chatted lightly about King Arthur before Aziraphale turned the conversation toward Merlin, “from what I hear, you’re a fascinating man yourself.” Aziraphale said in the sultriest tone he could muster up.

Merlin seemed to understand the inference in the angel’s tone; he perked up and seemed to take in the sight before him. “I wouldn’t say that, just a humble servant. I am finished with your armor…is there anything else I can assist you with?” He stepped closer to the bed, standing straight as a board, hands folded politely in front of him.

“Maybe, just one other thing…if you could come here for a moment,” Aziraphale gave the order lazily through half-lidded eyes. He was sitting back his undershirt skewed, showing much of his chest; he was propping up his weight on his hands.

The man-servant stepped forward, closing the distance between them, “what…uh…what can I do for you?” There was a pause; Merlin licked his slightly dry lips, the action reminded him of Crowley.

At that moment, he sprang from the bed and wrapped the younger man in a passionate embrace, kissing him longingly. There was a moment of hesitation on Merlin’s part before he gave in completely. When they pulled apart Aziraphale could see the lust radiating from the man, his eyes trailed up from his heaving chest to his funny little neck scarf, following the curve of his jaw. When he landed on his eyes for a moment, he could have sworn they shone yellow but blinked quickly, and he could see the piercing blue hue starring back at him.

That night Aziraphale found himself sharing a bed with the personal man-servant of the King.

*♚*♚*

Years pass, they have decided on The Agreement, each turn chosen by The Toss. At first, Aziraphale thought that Crowley was miracle-ing the coin to always land in his favor, but over the years the flips proved to be the 50/50 probability one would expect.

Aziraphale was folded up on the couch in the backroom of his bookshop; he was reading some new books that came through more mainstream bookshops. This particular book was titled _Simon vs. The Homosapien’s Agenda_. Aziraphale picked it up, thinking that it might give him some insight into what humans were interested in these days. He didn’t know who Simon was, but he was interested in the homosapien’s agenda.

As he began reading the book, he was uncertain that the plotline would give him the insight into the human thought that he was aiming for, but it intrigued him all the same.

While Aziraphale was warmly tucked away in his book, Crowley was sowing the seeds of mischief in Dublin. The demon had checked the weather before he left and found that it was downpouring the entire time. He groaned up until the second he snapped out of England and over to Dublin. He had promised Aziraphale the world if he would take this miracle but, in the Agreement, it was expressly understood that The Toss was final and could not be debated.

That’s the only way they were able to keep a balance. So, he went, it was only supposed to take a couple of hours — something about changing the formula for the newest batch of Guinness: hitting the Irish where it hurts.

Well after the sun had set and the rain came across the channel, pattering gently against the glass windows of the bookshop, Aziraphale heard a soft thump and grunt from the front room. He stood and rounded the corner to see a dripping wet Crowley with a pint of Guinness in his hand, a coaster taped over the top as a makeshift lid.

“How was it?” Aziraphale asked. He handed Crowley a towel from thin air.

Crowley shrugged taking the towel and handing over the pint. “Got that for you,” his head momentarily disappeared under the cloth as he rubbed the wetness out of his hair. “That’s from the last good batch, didn’t know if Guinness was your thing, but it’s a nice hearty beer for a night like this.” Crowley nonchalantly shrugged out of his jacket, laying it over the back of a nearby chair. He was left standing in skin-tight, black, button-up shirt that clung to his every curve.

Aziraphale didn’t mean to stare but was captivated by the demon’s muscular chest; his nipples were standing at attention, visible through his shirt. “Do you?” Crowley was staring down at Aziraphale. It took the angel a moment to understand what he was asking. The silence stretched long enough that Crowley clarified, “do you like Guinness?”

“Oh! Uhm, yea. Given the option, I would always choose a nice red, but I have always been fond of the history behind this beer.” Aziraphale removed the coaster from the top and took a tentative sip. He stared into Crowley’s eyes as he drank. Crowley seemed to relax slightly, a smirk gracing his lips. He tossed his rain spotted sunglasses on the chair’s seat below his jacket. The pair made their way to the back room of the bookshop where Aziraphale was initially planted.

“Interesting choice in reading, angel,” Crowley nodded toward the book sitting next to Aziraphale’s favorite reading chair. Crowley took what could be considered ‘his place’ on the loveseat next to the reading chair in question.

“Ah, yes, well I thought it would give me some insight into what humans were up to these days, but it is turning out to be a dastardly little love story between these two young men. I sure hope they find one another.”

Crowley chuckled, a slight shiver ran up his body and miraculously he was dry. Aziraphale wondered why he didn’t just do that in the first place but decided against pointing out the odd behavior.

“Have you ever found someone?” Aziraphale was shocked that the words had fallen from his mouth. He had been assuming his position in his seat when they tumbled from his lips. “I mean to say, over the centuries, finding someone that makes you feel happy and such…” he thought he could recover, but the words made the awkward chill in the air become electric, and the ending of his sentence trailed off.

Crowley’s expression warped into something unrecognizable to Aziraphale, pain maybe? His face quickly contorted back to his usual lazy expression, if not with a hint of tension in his brows.

“Uhm, well in a sense but not really. Wasn’t looking, to be honest. Have you?” Crowley turned the conversation back toward the angle; deflection was his greatest tool.

“Oh!” Aziraphale seemed mildly surprised to be asked, but he then reasoned that it was the appropriate response. “I…well, I guess no one that I love.”

There was that same look of pain that rumbled through Crowley’s features before fading away. The tension still spread from the demon’s eyebrows down to his jaw. It was set taught now as he nodded at the response.

“Makes sense,” not that it actually made any sense or there was any sense to be made of it, but Crowley didn’t want the silence to carry on much longer. “Do you have any bottles of single malt scotch around?”

The pair cracked open a new bottle, Aziraphale was relieved at the change in conversation and the activity to do. Idle hands were the devil’s playthings as the saying goes. And idle thoughts well…he couldn’t help but notice how Crowley downed his first glass in a matter of seconds — reaching for the bottle moments after it was placed on the side table separating them.

They spoke more about the assignment that Crowley was sent on and speculated about what else they would need to be doing before the end of the world. The Antichrist was now 7 years old. They still held their positions as tutors to the young chap, but when the school day was done, they had other business to tend to.

The night went on; the rain never let up. Crowley knew that it would take nothing to keep him dry if he were to leave the bookshop and head back to his flat, but something kept him in his seat. The slight awkward tension rolled through the night along with all the topics talked about. Even in silence that should have been comfortable, as it had been for some time now, there seemed to be an additional layer of something that left a bad feeling in the air.

*♚*♚*

Aziraphale had stood from his reading chair to retrieve a second bottle of scotch, realizing slightly too late that the first one hit him harder than he anticipated. His balance was off, and he stood up before getting a solid footing. He tipped sideways, his reaction time was slowed immensely by the liquor and fell directly into Crowley’s lap.

The demon’s eyes went wide, and he grunted. One hand pinned to his chest and the other to the arm of the chair by the angle’s body.

“Oh my! I apologize! I didn’t realize this was going to happen,” he shuffled to stand back up, but it seemed like Crowley’s feet were always in the way of planting his own on the ground. They both flailed rather pathetically for a moment trying to arrange themselves in a way to get out of the situation in one piece and with maybe just a shred of dignity left.

Aziraphale huffed and sat up slowly. He looked down to the floor to carefully arrange his stance. Then he leaned slightly too far and nearly tumbled forward onto the floor. Crowley, finally getting use of both his arms, shot them out and grabbed Aziraphale around the waist, pulling the angle back into his lap. Their eyes found each other than, and Crowley seemed to be blushing, Aziraphale shook it off as redness from the alcohol and exertion from having to catch the falling angle. (pun intended).

“I do apologize, let me just get to my feet, and I will be back in a moment,” Aziraphale said with a small sigh. His breath washed over Crowley’s face; it was sweet like the smell of a freshly bloomed rose.

“Wait,” Crowley said bashfully.

“What?” Aziraphale looked at him in utter confusion. Of course, Crowley knew that it was now or never as the end was nigh and if he didn’t lay it all out explicitly, there was a very good chance that Aziraphale would never understand.

“I did find someone,” Crowley’s face was as bright red as the locks atop his head. “I think I did; love is a tricky thing as a demon, completely foreign. From what I gather from the humans up here is that what I feel is love.”

Aziraphale looked astonished, it took him a moment to understand what the demon was going on about, but once he said love he knew he was referencing their conversation earlier. “Who is it?” Aziraphale asked delicately. He could see just how vulnerable Crowley was being in the moment and wanted to rejoice in his friend’s happiness.

“Damn it, Aziraphale!” Crowley’s features darkened slightly. Not with the anger that seemingly colored his voice but with a hint of sadness, his features are drooping slightly. He pressed his face against Aziraphale’s arm, rubbing it back and forth for a split second.

Crowley pulled back, took a deep and shaky breath before he finally stated, “you.”


End file.
